


Alone and Colder

by Shaitanah



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-19
Updated: 2011-01-19
Packaged: 2017-10-14 21:27:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/153622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shaitanah/pseuds/Shaitanah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two sets of memories and three homes create a chaos in Connor’s mind. [“Angel: After the Fall”. Post-“First Night”, pre-Issue 2]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Alone and Colder

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Angel belongs to Joss Whedon and Co.

**ALONE AND COLDER**

 

First Dad drinks blood. Second Dad kills blood-drinkers. Third Dad… would run for the hills, screaming.

 

Life is a fucking soap opera.

 

The flames in his head, they never burn out.

 

When he was six years old, he lost a toy car in his friend’s backyard. He never did find it and he never asked his parents to replace it even though it used to be his favourite toy.

 

He understands now that the little plastic police car was never really lost. Or at least, it was never in his possession. Because when Connor was six, he was hunting monsters in Quor’Toth.

 

Somehow it doesn’t seem weird in the slightest.

 

LA gone to hell sets Connor’s teeth on edge. And yet, in some warped way, it makes him feel like home. At home, things were clear. Kill or be killed. _(Sports or school newspaper?)_ Create a diversion or attack head-on. _(Harvard or Stanford? Or some remote college in Alaska?)_

 

Three fathers, three homes. First home, _his_ home. Angel’s. Not somewhere he belonged. Second home, Holtz’s. Somewhere he thought he should belong. Third home, Reilly’s. Somewhere he cannot go back to now, even if he wants to.

 

Then there’s this nagging can’t-have feeling again. There’s never a can’t-have in the Third Dad’s world; but there was a shouldn’t-have with Dad Number Two. And the two mix and mingle, driving him to feel that he is unworthy of a normal family, that he doesn’t belong with regular people because he doesn’t feel _anything_.

 

 _(Can’t have Gwen. Can’t have Cordelia. Can’t have a life.)_

 

“What does blood taste like?” he asks Spike. He would never ask Angel that question. He’s not even sure there are any questions he would dare ask Angel now.

 

“What’s that, junior?” Spike winks at him. “Thinking of adjusting your diet? A bit of vamp finally kicking in?”

 

In hell, food tastes like ash. But then, there are abandoned supermarkets where you can scavenge for supplies; that’s something. Quor’Toth didn’t even have that.

 

 _(Got lost in a department store once. Couldn’t find his way back._ ) Not real. Quor’Toth didn’t have any department stores. Only monsters that came out of dreams and dressed in flesh. Not too different from here.

 

“Tastes a bit like copper,” Spike says. Connor doesn’t know how long he has already been talking. “But then, it’s a whole different thing when you have a buffet of Happy Meals on legs at your disposal. Pig’s blood is…” A grimace that Connor cannot quite place flashes momentarily on Spike’s face. “‘Least I never went for rats! Not like some vampires with a soul did in their own time, you know.”

 

Connor chuckles at the not so slight jab at Angel. It’s funny: Angel is always around even when he’s not physically present. Angel was always around with Cordelia even when she had no memory of him. Angel is always around with Spike even though he makes it sound like nothing.

 

But you can’t take all these years spent together as a family and throw them away. Even if neither of you had a soul back then.

 

Connor has always had a soul. Most of the time he wished he didn’t.

 

Soul is what breeds true hate. Second Dad had one. He never once lied to Connor, never once tried to make him believe his real father was still a soulless monster; yet somehow Connor hated Angel more than he could ever hate Angelus.

 

Third Dad would be proud of him, thinking about such lofty matters.

 

 _(Where is Angel now anyway? Where is he when Connor needs him? Gone again.)_

 

No one ever fights for him. Holtz cared only about his vengeance. Mother allowed herself to lose to Cordelia (Jasmine?) when she was fighting for his soul. _(Angel’s not here.)_

 

“You ask me, you’re putting too much logic in it,” Spike says. “Can’t be defined by logic.”

 

“What?”

 

“Love.”

 

Spike’s right. Weird thing, love. Makes a soulless vampire kill herself to save someone else. Makes a man sign off his child like property to someone who isn’t even aware of this deal of a lifetime. Makes a guy let the girl he loves think he’s dead. Makes a person choose slavery over freedom.

 

Connor takes one of the heavy goblets Spike has scattered in his garden and scoops up some blood from the fountain. He knows it’s not human blood; Spike has long since kicked the habit for all his demonic Hugh Hefner act. Frankly, he doesn’t care much. He takes a gulp. Lets it run down his throat. Has to know. Has to see the truth. _(He is part-demon after all.)_

 

Spike calls it a parody of siring. He finds it funny.

 

Connor feels dizzy when he’s drunk the entire goblet; yet some water in this place tastes far worse than blood.

 

Maybe hell gives you a new perspective, but things are suddenly clear again. Quor’Toth clear, except with no agony and hate.

 

 _(Let it go, baby, Cordelia implores him. He used to trust her. He used to trust anyone but himself.)_

 

Time to start again.

 

 _(Angel will be here when he needs him. He can wait.)_

 

 

 _July7–8, 2010_


End file.
